


Fraternisation is Frowned Upon

by juliandarling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-09
Updated: 2009-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:39:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliandarling/pseuds/juliandarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has difficulty separating his work from his home life. Draco doesn't help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fraternisation is Frowned Upon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [noeon (noe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/noe/gifts).



> Thanks to my awesome beta, [la_dissonance](http://la-dissonance.dreamwidth.org/) for being lovely as always. Written for 2009 [HP Shag a Son](http://hp-sas.livejournal.com/6026.html) fest for [noeon](http://noeon.livejournal.com).
> 
> **WARNINGS** : Sex, language, age disparity.

James had the worst case of blue balls he'd ever had in his entire life. And there was only one person to blame. He crossed his legs in a poor attempt to hide his erection, and gave a ill-disguised glare at the man sitting across the room. 

The Boss was currently also slumped in his chair, (legs like a long, gorgeous road, stretched out in front of him) worrying at his sandwich with a look of complete disgust on his smooth face. James knew that Look. The Look was the expression the Boss got when he was about to kick some bureaucratic arse. Luckily, James had yet to be the object of the Look, but Scorp always said that was because James had always been the Boss's favourite. 

"Can I get you anything?" James asked, standing to stretch his own (ridiculously) long legs. While the Boss looked like a tall glass of water (stupid Muggle phrase, but it made sense) James looked like a stork, gangly, all angles and big feet. 

The Boss looked up from his mangled sandwich. "Yes, get me a coffee."

"Black?"

"Oh god yes," Boss groaned, dropping the sandwich into his lunch bag. "And maybe a scone from the break room if the obscene whale hasn't eaten them all." 

James ducked out of the office and headed toward the communal break room. Sure enough, Uncle Ron was standing by the table, eyeing the plate of scones. There were two left. 

"Hey, Uncle Ron!" 

"Oh, hey James," Ron said, still staring at the scones. "I can't decide which—"

"I'm taking this one." James scooped up the larger of the two (studded with plump blueberries) and tucked it into a napkin. "For my boss."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Tell that F—"

"He called you an _obscene whale_. So maybe you shouldn't eat that last scone," James teased. It was a sign of how quarrelsome the two were that Ron barely even registered the insult. "obscene whale" was mild compared to some of the invectives they had flung at each other over the years. 

He found Boss with his banging his head against the wall half-heartedly when he returned. James pressed the napkin filled with scone into a spare hand and began to scoop up the remainders of the Boss's lunch. Boss was rather picky, and sometimes a sandwich wasn't up to snuff. And clearly, the lacklustre lunch had been exacerbated by some Ministry paperwork asshattery. 

"Is this blueberry?" Boss asked, in between head slams. 

"Yes."

"Did the obscene whale eat the rest?"

"Yes."

"Damn him." Boss took a big bite out of the scone, and stopped banging his head long enough to chew and swallow. He gave James an appraising look. "This isn't half bad. Who made them?"

"Aunt Hermione." 

Boss choked on the scone and then gave it a horrified look, as if it were about to come to life and eat him or something. "Your Aunt made this?" He made a disgusted face, but took another bite when he thought James wasn't looking. 

"Boss, did you manage to get that autopsy of the old lady to Records?"

Boss made a funny face, and James was tempted to reach over and wipe the crumbs off his lower lip. "I know I did. Are they whinging?"   
"Yeah, they say they never got it." 

They both rolled their eyes. "Records, what a bunch of lazy, good-for-nothing, bunch of snot rags," Boss growled under his breath. 

James, as serenely as possible, considering his dick was jammed against his thigh, went back to filing.

\---

James was washing the dishes (from two weeks ago, just left in the sink) when the front door slammed. Moments later a slim body pressed against his back and a cool kiss was placed on his neck, followed by a playful scrape of teeth.

"You were driving me crazy today," a voice murmured into his shoulder. "You were so fucking hot. I couldn't stop watching your wrists." A hand reached around and ran a slim finger up James's forearm. "I couldn't stop thinking about last night...especially since you made it near fucking impossible to sit."

James turned around and grabbed his boyfriend's arse with his soapy hands. "You liked that, huh?"

Draco flushed. "Mhm, I suppose. Maybe." Draco gave him a coy look, which sent a jolt of pleasure straight to James' crotch. 

"Mind if I do it again?" James leaned forward and pressed his lips to the perfect shell of Draco's ear. "Plow your sweet arse?"

Draco made a face. "Plow? That is the worst dirty talk you've come up with yet." 

James flushed and tried to distract Draco by untucking his shirt and running a hand up his smooth stomach. "I think I heard someone say that in a porn video."

"Lucky for you, I like you for your dick, not your brain," Draco said, shuddering at the thought of being 'plowed.' "That was just too much." 

"Mhm, I'll keep that in mind." James playfully tweaked a nipple. Draco sucked in a quick breath and shot James a dark look. 

"Hey, I'm trying to teach you a very important lesson here," he bitched, but didn't pull away from James' prying fingers. "Dirty talk has to be sexy. No plowing. Or weeping cocks." 

James raised an eyebrow. "Weeping cocks?"

"Don't ask. Do that again." 

James complied, rubbing Draco's nipple between his finger and thumb. Draco closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. "You look good like that."

Draco opened an eye. "James. Sirius. Potter. Stop right now." James removed his hand. "No, not that. I meant the talking." James began to unbutton Draco's starched shirt and tossed it onto the table, barely missing the plate of cookies Grandma had dropped by earlier that evening. "Hey! Watch it! That shirt cost more than your liver on the black market." 

James rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you old fart. Now let me just fucking seduce you already."

"Seduce!?" Draco squawked. "I'll have you know I'm the one doing the seducing here—Mrmph!" James silenced him with a bruising kiss. 

He was fumbling with Draco's ridiculously complicated belt when a surprisingly loud _crack_ startled them both. James groaned and pulled back. 

"James? James?" It was the fireplace. 

James poked his head around the door frame. It was his dad, head in the fireplace. Dad hated Floo communication, the idea of sticking his head into licking flames. He said it tickled. He looked uncomfortable. James wasn't sure if it was the fireplace or James' distinct state of dishevelment. "Yes?" 

"Uhm, sorry to disturb you, but there's been an incident. We need you two to come out and examine some bodies. Is Malfoy with you?" Dad coughed politely. 

Incident. Which meant several deaths, rather violent. And if they needed to be at the scene, that meant there were multiple pieces. Draco came out of the kitchen, glaring at the fireplace. 

"Excellent timing, Potter." 

Dad flushed. "Malfoy."

"I was about to get—" Draco began, tugging his zipper back up. 

"So, why don't you meet me at the office and I'll give you the coordinates there?" Dad said, rather desperately, James thought. "Right then. See you there." He disappeared with a pop, and the green flames disappeared.

\---

James rubbed his eyes with both fists, aware that he looked like a kid, but he was exhausted. They'd finally managed to collect all the bits (potions experiment gone horrendously wrong) and bag them, but it had been three in the morning by the time they got home. Four hours of sleep, five cups of coffee later, and James was pissed off. Not only had potential sex been interrupted, but the Boss was a complete dragon. 

The Boss was one of those types that needed ten hours of sleep to be a decent human being. James was really glad he was a favourite, because Rosy was getting reamed at the moment. 

"... And you, in your wisdom, decided to put the samples in a cloth bag and sling them over your shoulder? Well, let me tell you, imbecile, you can collect all the samples again from those charred corpses, without any help from me or from Potter, and you'll do it correctly and quickly. And if you mess up again I'll hex your fat fingers so badly that you drop everything you pick up for the next twenty years!" 

He was on a roll. James poured himself another cup of tea. The coffee had run out long before, and had been making him pee too much. And besides, Boss had said he couldn't have anymore bathroom breaks. So he was stuck with his dinky cups of tea, which didn't have nearly enough caffeine to make him feel even sentient. 

Boss was still going. "... And then I'll send you to Siberia where you can rot with the remains of all those stupid Muggle explorers—"

James knew it had been a bad idea to introduce the Boss to the BBC history programmes. 

"Boss, can I get you a muffin?"

He stopped in the middle of tirade, a funny expression on his face. "Oh. Uhm, yes. That would be nice." 

James stepped out, half-expecting the vitriol to continue, but there was only silence from the office, so he marched off to the break room. 

He returned with two muffins, and found Boss with his head down on his desk, arms wrapped around his head. James shut the door. After setting the muffins down, he ran a hand through the white blonde hair. Boss batted the hand off. 

"Hey, no touching while at the office," Boss snapped, not meanly. 

James shrugged, a bit sadly. "Work and play are separate." 

Boss nodded and sat up. "Two muffins?" 

James ran another hand through Boss' hair. 

"Hey." 

"Hey what?" James asked innocently, leaning on the desk. 

"Stop," Boss waved a hand at him, "doing whatever you're doing."

"What am I doing, Draco?"

Draco stopped, and gave him a suspicious look. "You never call me Draco at work. What are you and what you have you done with Potter?" 

"James."

"We're at work. At work you're Potter."

James shook his head. "No, I'm James."

"Do you have some kind of multiple personality disorder you didn't tell me about?" Draco asked, giving James the stink-eye. He had muffin at the corner of his mouth. James wanted to lick it away. "Because we've been together for almost a year now, and if you've got some weird freaky disease (probably inherited from your troll of a father)—"

So James leaned over and licked the corner of Draco's mouth. He tasted like muffin. Yeah, James wasn't feeling profound. 

"Hey!" Draco lurched back slightly. "No licking at work." 

"Where does it say that in the rule book?" James asked, not really wanting the answer. 

Draco flushed. "I'm sure there's a statute about it somewhere. The Ministry is pretty comprehensive about these things." He pushed James away gently. "To prevent sneaky children like you from working out loopholes."

"Mhm, but most children like me aren't fucking their bosses sideways every other night," James smirked. "And believe me, when I get you home tonight I'm going to fuck you every which way." 

Draco gave him an appraising look. "You're getting better at this dirty talk thing. Now, as much as I appreciate the mental image your words have created, there is definitely a rule about supervisor and assistant fraternisation, so, now I'll appreciate if you return to your desk—"

James grinned and grabbed Draco by the collar. "Since when have I ever listened to you?" 

Draco faltered. "Well, that's an excellent point, but the crux of the matter is that it is _illegal_ , so now unhand me you ill-mannered brat." 

James smirked and hoisted his boyfriend up by his very expensive shirt. "Yeah, tell that to my Dad. You know, he fucks my Mum on his desk every Wednesday." 

Draco looked horrified. "Long lunch day? Ginger and the Potty? Desk?" 

"Yep."

"Oh god, that is an awful visualisation," Draco muttered. "I need to scrub my brain with bleach. Please." 

"Let's replace it with some visuals of our own, huh?" James' fingers were sure as he tugged at Draco's pants, finally figuring out the insane belt from hell, pulling down the trousers to mid thigh. He stuck his hand down the back of Draco's underwear, causing him to lurch forward into James's arms. "Why don't you sit on the edge of the desk? It'll be easier for me to reach your arsehole." 

Draco glared at him balefully. "Why are you so crude?"   
James rolled his eyes as he shucked his belt and pants quickly. "Says the man who thinks 'fucking' is an excellent adjective to describe anyone or anything." 

Draco made a sniffing noise. "Hurry up, you pillock, this is taking way too long. What if Rosy the Wretched comes in during the middle of you 'plowing' me and reports us?" 

James let his trousers and underwear pool around his ankles. With a dirty look at Draco, he fumbled through the desk until he found the lube he knew was kept surreptitiously in the very back of the drawer. 

"How did you know that was there?" Draco asked, playing with himself idly. "I didn't tell you—"

"You were wanking in here a month ago, and a little to caught up in it to notice I had stuck my head in," James said, a bit wryly. "And that's when I decided we weren't having enough sex." 

Draco cocked his head to the side, thinking about it. "So that's what precipitated that conversation about whether or not you were meeting my needs?" 

"Uh yeah," James muttered. "Yeah, well, I thought you weren't happy, or getting enough orgasms or something..." He slicked himself up and leaned over to give Draco a wet, disgustingly sappy kiss. 

Draco drew away, panting. "Yeah, well, you know me. I like orgasms."

"Let me give them to you then," James suggested, slippery hand wrapping around Draco's half-hard erection. "During work." 

"Bad idea," Draco panted, arching into James' hand. 

James removed his hand. 

"No, not that, hand jobs are good, just not during work," Draco snapped. 

James raised an eyebrow. "I can leave you like this. Perched on the edge of your desk. Cock waving in the air." 

"Waving?" Draco let go of the edge of the desk to point at his cock. "My cock does not wave! And don't you dare even think about leaving me like this. You'll get nothing for a whole month. Now suck my dick and let's get this over with." For all his harsh manner, James couldn't help but notice that Draco was flushed, hips already bucking in anticipation. 

James shrugged and leaned over to bury his nose in the thatch of curly ash blond hair at Draco's crotch. Draco smelled a little bit like tobacco, musk, and sex. Or maybe a lot like sex. James felt his dick harden between his legs. Draco pushed his crotch up insistently. "Just suck it." 

"God, so impatient," James mocked, and finally wrapped his lips around the tip of Draco's dick. The resulting sigh was gratifying on so many levels. He licked it obscenely for a few moments, knowing that Draco liked the kind of slutty look James got on his face. Draco was a total whore for obscene noises, and James came through in spades. Slurping, groaning, the whole caboodle. 

"God James, you look so fucking hot," Draco moaned, "but just please suck it. Now." 

James took it all into his mouth and, not very gracefully, let Draco fuck his throat for as long as he could stand it. 

"Oh, god, god, fucking god, James you shit," Draco effused, as vocal as ever. James looked up and was pleased to see that Draco had flushed a rosy pink and was tossing his head around a bit. Draco had a showman's temperament, and liked to show off. Not that James was complaining. When his throat and jaw were beginning to ache he pulled off and gave Draco's dick a few hard tugs. 

Draco looked completely debauched already, hair gone awry, blushing and panting as if he'd run a marathon. James was sure his cocksucking skill weren't that great, but Draco was kind of responsive, so maybe it'd been good. 

The contents of the desk looked like a storm had blown through, tossing everything all over the place. Spello-tape was rolling on the floor, and a couple ink vials had overturned onto some autopsy reports that they'd done that morning. Nothing a few waves of a wand couldn't fix. Although Draco's blazer sleeve was resting in a puddle of purple ink. Oh well. 

James slicked his dick up again with a few swipes and then pressed up against Draco, fingers aiding in spreading his arse cheeks. 

"Oh yeah," Draco breathed in his ear. "Plow me baby." 

James stopped with a squeaking noise. "Don't _ever_ say that again." 

Draco snickered. "Fine, just fuck me. No plowing." 

After a few moments of finger fucking (Draco squirming and moaning like a Banshee) James lined up and pushed up against Draco's sphincter, and slid (with a fair amount of resistance) into the squeezing warmth. Draco gave a low groan that came from the bottom of his belly.    
"You okay?"

"Of course I'm okay," Draco managed, sounding a bit faint. "Now fucking fuck me." Draco gave him the Look, and James blanched a moment before complying. 

No matter how much he'd fucked Draco over the last ten months, it was new each time. His cousin Hugo had told him that boys whot got fucked stretched out after a while and had poo running down their thighs, which, Draco had informed him, was blatantly not true. He'd also informed him that in fact, most people, if not fucked too roughly too often, retained all the elasticity of their colon. James had shut Draco up at that point with a hand palming against his erection, but the point had been made: Draco would always be fucking tight.

And god, he was tight this time too. The rough wood of the desk scraped against his thighs as he set a steady pace, which Draco was reciprocating alarmingly enthusiastically. He was sure they would break something (furniture, or maybe an arm) some day, but in the meantime, he wasn't going to stop Draco from throwing himself on James' cock. 

Fucking Draco was a revelation, like finding religion even though he didn't even believe in God, or finding the Holy Grail—   
"You're thinking too much," Draco grunted. "Stop thinking and just fuck me." 

James muttered his agreement and leaned forward to bite the gorgeous hollow at the base of Draco's throat that looked like the curve of a shell. 

"Oh god, you're a goddamn vampire. That hurt, you fuck." 

"If you can talk I'm not fucking you hard enough," James managed to get out and paused a moment to change his angle. When he was close enough to get where he wanted he slammed forward with enough body momentum to knock over a grown man, eliciting a howling shriek from Draco. And he kept a bruising pace until they were both making noises like something from a Muggle horror movie, and James was so close, so close, so close, so close—

"What on earth is going— Oh my fucking lord!" Came a very unmanly scream from the door. James' head snapped up in time to see his father's retreating back, papers flying everywhere. The door slammed and both of them came so hard James saw stars and Draco splattered come on James' nose. 

Draco sagged forward into James' arms and they both slumped there for a moment before Draco pried himself off with a wince.

"Did Potter just see us fucking?"

"Yep."

Draco paused a moment and gave James a speculative look. "I think more office sex is in order."


End file.
